Cold Desperation!

he had a gun in his hand;
his hand was shaking...
i looked into his eyes

as he reached for the till.
i could see the faces of
his woman, and his children....

could feel the hungry murmur
of their waiting in the darkness.
could smell his fear,

maybe even my own....
could hear the siren
of the coming blue...

cold desperation....
the hands on the clock,
stopped!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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